The Birthday Boy
by CelestialHeavens1
Summary: A day, just like any other, so easy to forget. Warnings: Some child abuse (just like a slap or two) and emotional abuse/abandonment. Don't like, don't read. One-shot.


_**Warning:**_ This story contains emotional abuse/abandonment, child abuse/abuse of a young adult (a few slaps and maybe a push or two). Don't like, don't read.

This is not a happy ending story. And no, I don't hate Dean. I don't even dislike Dean.

Characters: Dean (with a bit of self-deprecating thoughts), Sam, John, Season3!Ruby, and a random unnamed bartender in a bar (who would have ever guessed?).

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

5 Years Old

Momma was gone. Dean knew that for a fact. Over two months ago, before Christmas, a fire had taken his mother from him and Daddy and Baby Sammy. He couldn't find the words to say anymore, so he kept silent. It was easier to just stay quiet.

Today was January 24th, but that didn't make a difference to him as he shared his bed in the cheap motel with his baby brother, peaking his head out from under the blankets as he watched the clock turn to midnight. After all, how was he supposed to have a birthday if Momma wasn't there?

* * *

9 Years Old

"But, Dad, can't it wait 'til tomorrow?"

"Dean, get inside." The blondish-brown hair boy stared up at his father.

"Please, Dad?"

"Get inside. Don't make me repeat myself again."

"But, Dad, today's-"

Dean was cut off with a swift smack across the face from his father's hand. His eyes widened and he ran inside. He could hear the Impala's engine roar to life as it left and Dean locked the doors, moving numbly to the bathroom where he locked the door and crumpled behind it like a broken toy and began to cry silent sobs. His dad was his hero and his hero obviously thought that his son was doing something wrong.

How could he have been so stupid? He shouldn't have ask his dad to stay. It was selfish of him, but now he knew better. He had been a bad boy by being so selfish and bad boys didn't get birthdays. They didn't get presents or parties. They deserved to be smacked and punished.

He knew what happened to bad boys that didn't behave too. Peter at school had told him. When you didn't behavior and were more trouble than you were worth, you got sent to foster care to live with another family. Peter would know too; he was living in his fourth home.

Dean didn't want to be sent away. He needed to be good. Sammy needed him. Sammy would be crushed if Dad sent Dean away. He couldn't hurt Sammy.

"Dean?" Sammy's young voice came thorough the door, "I'm hungry."

"I'll- I'll be one minute, Sammy."

He sucked it up and washed his face before he left the bathroom to make Sammy dinner. After all, he wasn't supposed to be selfish.

* * *

13 Years Old

Dad should have been home hours ago. He had promised he'd be home in time. But like always, Dad's promises weren't worth much. Sam was already asleep, having gotten wrapped up in his play at school earlier; he had forgotten in his excitement the date.

But Dean never forgot it. He struck the match, lighting the small white candle that sat in the middle of an expired peanut butter and leftover plain old grape jelly that had been scraped from the bottom of the jar sandwich. He had learned long ago not to both Dad with such trivial matters, like birthdays. With a voice no more than a whisper, he sang:

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday Dean, happy birthday to me."

He closed his eyes and wished for Dad to come home safe and soon.

* * *

18 Years Old

_Dear Dean,_

_ On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of 2001. You stood out as one of the most talented and promising students in the most competitive applicant pools in the history of the Institute..._

Scribbled on a yellow Post-It note was '_School of Engineering_.'

_Dear Mr. Winchester,_

_ I am delighted to inform you that the Committee on Admissions and Financial Aid has voted to offer you a place in the Harvard Class of 2001. Following Harvard traditions..._

_'School of Engineering and Applied Sciences.'_

_Dear Dean,_

_ Congratulations! The Admission Committee joins me in the most rewarding part of my job- offering you admission to Stanford University and inviting you to join our Class of 2001._

_'School of Engineering- Mechanical Engineering.'_

_Dear Mr. Winchester:_

_ It is my great pleasure to offer you admission to the University of California, Berkeley, for the Fall Semester, 1997. On behalf of the faculty and staff, I welcome you and commend you on your academic accomplishments._

_'College of Engineering- Mechanical Engineering.'_

_Dear Mr. Winchester,_

_ Congratulations on your admission to Yale College, Class of 2001! It gives me great pleasure to send you this letter, and you have every reason to feel proud of the work and aspirations that led you to this moment._

_ 'School of Engineering & Applied Science'_

That was the problem, maybe. He didn't feel proud. He felt guilty and selfish and horrible about it. Dean stared at the papers, half considering burning them. What was the point in holding onto them? It wasn't like he'd be able to go. Who'd watch out for Sammy and Dad if he left? He couldn't be selfish.

The door slammed as Sam walked into their cheap motel room from where he had been using the motel's computer for a book report and Dean jumped to his feet, hiding the letters along with the others he had gotten- not just from schools, but also scholarships and ROTC and intern offers- in a large yellow envelope beneath an old newspaper, before Sam could see them. He couldn't let his little brother know how selfish he had been.

"Hey Sammy? Is everything okay?"

"Ask HIM!" Sam yelled, thrusting his finger in John's direction as their father entered in behind the youngest Winchester, "He's leaving now! In the middle of the night! For a JOB!"

"I won't put up with this tone from you. I am your father!"

"Yeah? Well you don't do a very good job of acting like it! You're always leaving!"

"Guys," Dean said calmly, trying to defuse the situation, "Calm down. Sam, Dad's got a job he has to-"

"I knew you'd say that because you're always taking his side! I HATE YOU!" Dean flinched at his brother's words. Sam stormed from the room, slamming the bedroom door.

John made to move after the younger boy in anger, but Dean tried again to get his dad thinking clearly. "Dad, don't. He-"

"Get out of my way."

"Dad, he doesn't-"

"Dean, get out of my way."

"Dad, just-"

Smack! John Winchester's hand collided with Dean's face. Stunned, the older boy recoiled back, eyes wide. As John disappeared into the bedroom, Dean touched his face in shock. Taking his college acceptance letters and scholarship letters and job offers, he moved silently outside. He had no intention to keep them, telling himself that he'd burn them, just not right now, as he sat down on the step outside the room, sitting in the warm Miami air. He caught sight of his reflection in a passing car's window and he muttered to himself.

"Happy birthday, Dean."

* * *

28 Year Old

Dean sat at the bar, on beer number 2. Some way to spend his last birthday, he thought to himself as he drank down the last of his beer. A blonde in dark clothes sat down beside him. "Go away, Ruby."

"No. I'm here for a drink, so I'm going to get my drink." She looked at him, as if daring him to challenge her. The bartender walked up to her, "Six double scotches," she ordered. She smiled at the man behind the counter as he placed six glasses before her and started pouring. When he left, she pushed three of the six in front of Dean. "Consider it your birthday present."

Dean raised his eyebrow at her. "How did you know it's my birthday?"

The blonde shrugged, "The 'birthday doom and gloom' look you've got plastered on your face was a pretty good indication. And so was your actually license with your real name and all." She took a drink.

The hunter eyed the demon, took a drink. "Alright then. Thanks."

She gave him a half-smile. "You do know that just because I can't get you out of your deal doesn't mean I'm not going to try, right?"

"Why try?"

"Because you probably could survive Hell, but it'll still mess with you. Even if you got out and by some miracle you were still human, you'd probably want to spend the rest of your life in a psychiatric ward or so drugged or drunk out of your mind that you're not actually living. I wouldn't wish this life on anyone else." Dean nodded and Ruby waved the bartender over as they finished their last glass, instructing him to leave the bottle and get them a slice of the pie that was sitting on the counter. When he set it down, Ruby pulled out a candle and lit it with magic. "Happy birthday, shortbus."

"You know, you're not all that bad..." He picked a fork and took a bite of the pie, before he added, "for a demon."

* * *

30 Years Old

Dean curled up beneath the blanket as the door opened and closed. One simple task and he couldn't even mange to not screw that up. Take care of Sammy. If he wasn't any good at his job, then what the hell was his purpose in life?

He stared at the clock on the nightstand. It was the last time he'd ever get to do this, so why not count down, uphold the long-standing tradition of having his one self day forgotten by those closest to him. 30 seconds to midnight. 25... 20... 15...10...9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1.

"Happy Birthday, Dean."

The end.

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